She had nothing to say. The wind had died out
of the sails of her anger.

“We’re not goin’ to arrest Hull
yet—­not technically,” Kirby explained
to her. “I’m arrangin’ to hire
a private detective to be with him all the time.
He’ll keep him in sight from mornin’ till
night. Is that satisfactory, Hull? Or
do you prefer to be arrested?”

The wretched man murmured that he would leave it to
Lane.

“Good. Then that’s the way it’ll
be.” Kirby turned to the woman. “Mrs.
Hull, I want to ask you a few questions. If you’ll
kindly walk into the house, please.”

She moved beside him. The shock of the surprise
still palsied her will.

In the main her story corroborated that of Hull.
She was not quite sure when she had heard the shot
in its relation to the trips of the elevator up and
down. The door was closed at the time.
They had heard it while standing at the window.
Her impression was that the sound had come after
James Cunningham had ascended to the floor above.

Kirby put one question to the woman innocently that
sent the color washing out of her cheeks.

“Which of you went back upstairs to untie my
uncle after you had run away in a fright?”

“N-neither of us,” she answered, teeth
chattering from sheer funk.

“I understood Mr. Hull to say—­”

“He never said that. Y-you must be mistaken.”

“Mebbeso. You didn’t go back, then?”

The monosyllable “No” came quavering from
her yellow throat.

“I don’t want you to feel that I’m
here to take an advantage of you, Mrs. Hull,”
Kirby said. “A good many have been suspected
of these murders. Your husband is one of these
suspects. I’m another. I mean to
find out who killed Cunningham an’ Horikawa.
I think I know already. In my judgment your
husband didn’t do it. If he did, so much
the worse for him. No innocent person has anything
to fear from me. But this is the point I’m
makin’ now. If you like I’ll leave
a statement here signed by me to the effect that neither
you nor your husband has confessed killing James Cunningham.
It might make your mind a little easier to have it.”